


Love Letters

by maddmaddworld



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddmaddworld/pseuds/maddmaddworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are my best friend in the whole world, and I promise you that you will never feel this much pain ever again. You are my heart, and I intend to keep it safe. </p>
<p>Love,<br/>Katniss</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Letters

**Age 6**

Peeta Mellark, all blond curls and chubby legs and dimples, sits next to me at the lunch table. He’s munching noisily on a green apple, kicking his legs out and back and out and back. I play with my braid and roll my eyes at him. _He chews so LOUD._  

 

He sees me roll my eyes. “Do you want a piece of my apple?” He holds out a slice toward me.

 

I crinkle my nose at him. “Why?”

 

He rolls his eyes right back. “Because.”

 

“Because why?”

 

He wipes his empty hand on his shorts. “Because…I don’t know. Do you?” He fidgets, looking frustrated.

 

“No.”

 

“You’re mean,” he whines.

 

“No I’m not.”  


“Yes, you are.”

 

“I know you are but what am I?” I stick my tongue out at him.

 

“UGH, Katniss!” He whines.

 

“UGH, PEETA!” I mock.

 

We don’t talk for a long time after that. I finish my sandwich, but I’m still hungry. I play with the bottom of my red dress and try not to stare at Peeta’s food.

 

My tummy rumbles. “…Can I have a piece of your apple?”

 

Peeta scrunches his face at me, but gives me a slice of his apple. He smiles when I lean over to hug him.

 

He gives me a purple construction paper heart at the end of the day. It reads:

 

_Dear Katniss,_

_I like your braid._

_Peeta Mellark_

 

The next day, he shows up to school with a large bruise on his arm. I share my measly bologna sandwich with him.

* * *

  **Age 8**

 

I’m just about to scream for my dad when I hear Peeta shout, “Don’t you touch her! She’s my friend!” He’s running toward the playground, his face flushed and his blue eyes angry.  


Cato Billings lets go of my arm and turns to Peeta, spitting in his direction. “Aww, Peeta’s friends with the poor chick! Gross!” He sticks his tongue out at Peeta and tries to grab for me again.

  
“Shut up!” Peeta runs up to Cato and shoves him to the ground. “Leave her alone!” Cato hits the asphalt with a thud, his eyes wide and his mouth open, ready to scream.

 

Instead, he bursts into tears. It makes me smile.

 

Peeta runs toward me, grabbing my hand and leading me off the playground. My braid whips around behind me from the movement. We head toward the line of cars filled with parents waiting to pick up their kids. I see my dad emerge from our old beat up Chevy pickup, running a tanned hand through his unruly dark hair and staring us down with his quicksilver eyes. He approaches us and kneels in front of me, running his large hands down my arms to check if I’m okay. He saw the whole thing, I realize.

 

He looks angry, but instead of the reprimand I expect, he moves from me to Peeta, grasping his shoulder and plopping a loving kiss in his hair. Peeta scratches his head from where dad’s beard tickled him. “Alright, Peet?” my dad asks. Peeta nods up at him proudly. “Okay, Let’s get you home.”

 

As we walk toward the car, leading the way for my father, Peeta grabs my hand again. When I try to get him to look at me, he won’t make eye contact.  “It’s okay, Peeta,” I mumble.

 

“No, it’s not. You’re my best friend. They can’t talk to you like that.”

 

I tug on his arm. “I’m your best friend?”

 

Peeta glares at me. “Of course you are.”

 

“You’re my best friend, too,” I reply, smiling. “Even though you’re a boy,” I add.

 

“We’re gonna be friends forever, right?”

 

“Right,” I nod. I can hear my dad chuckling behind us.

 

My father leads us to the car and buckles us in, remembering to lean in and kiss me on the forehead. His beard tickles _every time_. He climbs into the driver’s seat and heads to Mellark Bakery.

 

We usually drop Peeta at the bakery’s front entrance, so I’m surprised when my dad parks the car in the small lot behind the building. “Want to grab some cheese buns for later, Katniss?” he asks. This is a luxury we can very rarely afford, so I shout an enthusiastic, “YES!”

 

I unbuckle my seatbelt and jump out of the car. I run to Peeta’s side and shout, “RACE YOU TO THE FRONT DOOR!” before taking off as fast as I can. I vaguely register my father yelling at us to not get hit by a car, and Peeta yelling that it wasn’t fair because he wasn’t ready, but neither of us stops until we hit the bakery door. I totally win.

 

While Peeta and I sit at a table playing Go Fish, I overhear our dads talking in the corner. “He protected my little girl, Gabe. It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

I hear Peeta’s dad chuckle lightly, and look over to see him wipe his hands on his apron and dust the flower out of his light blond hair. “He’s a goner. He has been since day one,” Gabe replies, and they both laugh and stare at us.

 

Peeta huffs that it’s my turn, and as I ask him if he has any sixes, I wonder what being _a goner_ means.

 

The next day at school, I leave a note on Peeta’s desk.

 

_To Peeta:_

_Thank you. You are my best friend._

_From Katniss Everdeen_

* * *

 

**Age 9**

Peeta passes me a note during math class.

_Katniss,_

_My step mom called you a Seam Brat. What does that mean? Why does she not like it when we hang out?_

_Peeta_

I purse my lips and scribble out my response before sliding the paper back to him.

_It’s because my family lives in the Seam and we don’t have a lot of money, and you have lots of money. I don’t want to stop being your friend because I love you, BFF. But if your mom makes you stop it’s okay I get it._

Peeta gives me a dirty look when he reads my note. He angrily writes his reply and shoves it in my direction.

_That’s stupid. I love you because you’re my best friend, no matter what she says._

 

I draw him a smiley face. He sees it right before Ms. Trinket takes our note away and gives us both In School Suspension.

 

Peeta shows up to school in long sleeves the next day, even though it’s 80 degrees outside. When I ask him about it, he says it’s laundry day.

 

* * *

 

**Age 11**

The pavement under my legs grows hotter and I can see the sun turning Peeta’s pale skin an unhealthy red color as we sit on the sidewalk at Alma Coin Park, throwing a basketball back and forth to each other. After a long period of silence, Peeta growls, “Gale told everyone he wants to kiss you.”

 

It’s a stifling July day, and Peeta and I have nothing to do. Our fathers are on a fishing trip—adults only—and Peeta’s mom kicked us out of the house 2 hours ago so she could talk to the gardener about something that _children wouldn’t understand._ We stole Peeta’s step brother Aaron’s basketball and walked to the park to escape her wrath.

 

I scrunch up my nose and toss the ball back to him. “Ew, why?”  


Peeta looks at me like I’ve got three heads. “Because he likes you.”  


“No he doesn’t. That’s stupid,” I reply, bouncing the basketball back to him.

 

He chucks the basketball at me, hard. “Whatever, Katniss, you know he does.”

 

I throw it back just as hard. “I don’t know anything, and besides, I don’t want to kiss Gale.”

 

Peeta sets the ball in his lap and is quiet for a moment. He stares down at his Nikes, and glances over to me every few seconds. I fidget under his gaze and pick at my bare toes. Eventually, he quietly asks, “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

 

“No,” I respond immediately, my eyes shooting up to his. “Have you?” I retaliate.

 

He blushes all the way to his fingertips. “Um…well, yah.”

 

I feel a distinct pain in my chest that I can’t understand, and my breathing stops for a moment. When I finally ask, “Who?” it comes out as a whisper.

 

“Clove,” he responds quietly. His face is still red, and he bites his lip nervously.

 

“Oh. Why?”

 

“Because she said I could.” His eyes are downcast. He spins the ball in his lap, refusing to look at me.

 

“Oh,” I reply softly. I stare down at the pavement. “Are you her boyfriend?”

 

“No,” he responds, sending the basketball my way again. It hits me in the forehead. I scowl at Peeta. “I’m sorry! I thought you were paying attention!” I throw the basketball back at him roughly, but he catches it easily and sets it down next to him. After a moment, he adds, “She doesn’t want to be my girlfriend. She likes Cato.”

 

“Oh.” I’m confused. Girls are stupid. We pass the basketball back and forth for awhile longer before heading to my house for dinner so we can avoid Peeta’s mom. We don’t bring up the kisses again.

 

The next day, as we’re taking our bikes out for a ride, Peeta says, “I didn’t like kissing Clove.”

I try not to smile too much.

 

* * *

 

**Age 13**

 

My family’s living room is dark except for the movie playing in the background. I’m not paying attention to it. I stare up at the ceiling fan and sigh heavily. “What’s gonna happen tomorrow?”

 

Peeta rises from his spot next to me on the living room floor and quirks his eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean,” I huff, sitting up to look at him, “We’re starting high school. Are we still going to be best friends?”

 

He recoils at my question. “Why wouldn’t we be?” The light from the TV casts harsh shadows on his face while he glares at me. 

 

I look away from him and lie back down on the floor, the movie we were watching long forgotten. “I don’t know. I’m just scared,” I reply. Scared is an understatement. I’m terrified. Peeta Mellark is already the most popular kid at D12 Middle School, and he spends half his time defending his friendship with me. Someday soon, he’s going to get sick of having _the poor chick_ as his friend, and that will be the end of that. I know it.

 

Peeta lies back down, putting one arm behind his head. He grabs my hand with his free one and rubs circles over my thumb. “What are you scared of?”

 

It takes me a long time to respond, and I speak so softly I’m afraid he doesn’t hear me. “Losing my best friend.”  


He shoots up again, not letting go of my hand. He pins his piercing blue eyes on me. I have to force myself not to scoot backward. “How could you lose me?”

 

I sigh and swallow the lump in my throat. The weak, choked sound of my voice makes me cringe. “You’re popular, Peeta. You have football and wrestling, and you’re gonna make so many friends.” I sound like such a whiny baby.

 

Peeta uses the hand that holds mine to grab me, pulling me so I lie with my head on his chest, our fingers still locked tightly. “So? You’re still my best friend. You’ll be there, too.”

 

“Promise?”

 

He scoffs at me and kisses my forehead firmly. I ignore the warmth I feel spread through me at the contact. “Katniss, don’t be dumb. Yes, I promise,” He leans in close and whispers, “You’ll always be my best friend.”

 

I sigh loudly and snuggle closer to him, relishing in his warmth. He lets go of my hand to wrap his arm tightly around me, and we both pretend to watch the rest of the movie. I try to memorize every part of him that touches me. I’m afraid I’ll never get this chance again. As I’m examining his form, I notice the long, purple bruise on his right forearm. I grab his hand and pull his arm toward me, gently running my fingers over the bruise. He hisses and I pull back quickly. “Peeta, what happened to your arm?”

 

“Oh, I ran into the door at the bakery,” he replies, his voice wavering. I glare at him, letting him know I don’t believe it, but I drop the subject.

 

When I head to bed that night, I notice the small note on my pillow. He must have snuck it in here when he went to use the restroom.

 

_Katniss,_

_Don’t ever be afraid of losing me._

_It won’t happen._

_We’ll have the best high school years ever._

_Love always,_

_Peeta_

 

* * *

 

**Age 16**

 

There’s a knock on the door at midnight that wakes the whole house. Mom and I huddle in the living room while my dad goes to the door. Peeta and his father stand on the other side. “I’m sorry about this, Toby—we just didn’t know where else to go.” Gabriel Mellark sounds distraught. My father only shakes his head and opens the door for them further. They both carry overnight bags, and once they get into the house it only takes me a moment to see what’s happened to Peeta. _My_ Peeta.

 

“Peeta!” I shout, running to him and pulling him into my arms. He winces and I back off immediately. When I pull away enough to examine his face, I see that his left eye is black, his lip is split, and there’s a long bruise down his arm—just like the one I found the night before we started high school.

 

“Are you okay?” He doesn’t respond, down casting his eyes and covering his stomach with his arms, but I’m having none of that. I pull the overnight bag off of his shoulder and toss it unceremoniously on the ground. Next, I grab his hands, forcing them to his sides before pulling the bottom of his t-shirt up. Peeta hisses and tries to cover himself, but I’m quicker, pulling the shirt up to reveal multiple large bruises on his chest and stomach. I gasp loudly and run my fingers ever-so-softly over his wounds. His skin turns to gooseflesh beneath my touch.

 

I drop the edge of his t-shirt, looking up at him again. His eyes are still firmly trained on the floor. Looking around,  I finally notice that we have an audience; my parents and Gabe are staring at us in awe. I ignore them, and the blush that creeps up my cheeks, and ask Peeta again if he’s okay.

 

“I’m okay,” he mumbles.

 

“Come on, Gabe,” my father says, grasping him by the shoulder and grabbing an unopened bottle of dark liquor from our small shelf of mom & dad’s “date night” stash. The two fathers disappear into our small basement. Mom makes sure everyone is settled and then heads back to bed.

 

I pull Peeta into the kitchen to find something for his lip. My father has dedicated a whole drawer in our kitchen to first aid, since one of us is almost always bleeding or injured. My mom nicknamed it the Doctor Drawer. After helping him sit down at the kitchen table and grabbing the ointment I need from the Doctor Drawer, I step between his legs and examine his face. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I mumble.

 

I jump when he grasps my hips, but hold his hands there when he tries to pull away. He gives me a small, sad smile. “I didn’t want you to worry. I thought I could handle it,” he replies quietly, grunting and pinching my arm when I put the ointment on his lip.

 

I shriek at the small pain and he laughs lightly. “You didn’t tell me that was going to sting!”

 

“It’s better if you don’t know it’s coming.” I quietly tend to his lip, thinking of all the _other_ ways I could make it feel better, when a thought hits me. “Did your dad know?”

 

“He suspected, but he never saw it until tonight.”

 

I nod. I never even suspected. Looking back on it, though, I should have. How many times has Peeta shown up in long sleeves, or with an unexplained bruise? How many times did I miss it?

 

“How long has this been going on?”

 

He speaks so quietly I almost miss it. “Since they got married.”

 

I recoil. “That’s almost ten years, Peeta!” He nods. I grab an ice pack out of the freezer and motion for him to pull his shirt up. He pulls it all the way off, and I have to bite my lip to stop the groan that wants to emerge. _Now is not the time to be ogling him! You’re a horrible person, Katniss!_ I pull an ace bandage out of the Doctor Drawer and wrap the ice pack firmly around his bruised ribs. He breathes heavily and his eyes go wide, but he doesn’t protest. I step back to examine him. My heart breaks as I stare at his battered form.

 

We’re silent for a long time. Finally, I whisper, “Am I a horrible friend for not noticing?”

  
Peeta grabs my hand and pulls me back between his legs, wrapping his arms around me. I can feel the ice pack against my hip, but I don’t care. I hold him as tight as I dare.

 

“I didn’t want you to notice. I never wanted you to know.”

 

“I could have stopped it,” I snap angrily.

 

“No, you couldn’t have. Look at me, Katniss,” he pulls my chin so I’m forced to look in his eyes. “I’m okay. I promise you, I’ve always been okay.”

 

I almost believe him, but this is never going to be okay. “Is she gone?” I ask.

 

“She’s gone. She took the boys with her. It’s just me and dad, now.”

 

I rest my forehead against the top of his head, and he holds me loosely around the waist. “I’m glad you came here.”

 

“Me too.”

 

I let him borrow my bed, and he’s passed out as soon as his head hits the pillow. I head to the basement, with every intention of giving Mr. Mellark an earful about not realizing his son was being abused, but when I reach the doors I stop at the sound of my dad’s soothing voice and the sound of ice clinking against glass.

 

“It’s okay, Gabe. You’re okay. Peeta’s okay. You can’t blame yourself. You got him out of there and that’s all that matters.”

 

“How did I not know? How did I not know it, Toby?” He growls, “She’s been beating my son for _years_ —what kind of a monster am I?”

 

“Peeta hid it very well, Gabe. I never even suspected, and I see the boy every day. Even Katniss never suspected. Out of all of us, she would have seen it if he let her. He’s so strong. He didn’t let on at all. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

 

I hear one of them pick up the liquor bottle and pour another round, so I sneak back upstairs into my bedroom and climb under the covers next to Peeta. He opens his eyes and smiles lazily at me, reaching his arm out to rest against my hip. I thunk my forehead against his—too hard, we both wince. Peeta giggles. “I promise I’ll never let anyone hurt you again,” I pledge. He doesn’t respond, but a small smile crosses his lips.

 

I wake earlier than Peeta, so I leave him a note.

 

_You are my best friend in the whole world, and I promise you that you will never feel this much pain ever again. You are my heart, and I intend to keep it safe._

_Love,_

_Katniss_

 

None of the adults says anything about us spending the night in the same bed. Peeta and Gabe come home to a half-empty house, free of demons and darkness for the first time.

 

* * *

 

**Age 17**

 

Peeta chases me upstairs to my bedroom. I stomp heavily and try to slam the door in his face, which only angers him further. He pushes his way into my room and shuts the door behind him. “Why the hell are you acting this way?” He shouts. “What’s wrong with you?”

  
I feel tears building behind my eyes. I squeeze them shut to block it out. I can’t cry. I can’t. He doesn’t need to see that. “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong! Stop asking me that!” I lose my composure and feel the tears I’ve been holding back release without my permission. I turn away from him and sob quietly, hoping he’ll just go away. I know better, though.   


Peeta says nothing for a long minute before grabbing my shoulder lightly and spinning me around. He pulls my chin up so I look into his eyes. “Katniss, what the fuck is wrong?” He’s angry, but he also looks scared. He stares me down until I break. There’s a part of me that is ridiculously turned on by the way he’s looking at me, but I force it away. Those are the types of thoughts that got us into this mess today.

 

This mess where I called his new girlfriend, Madge Undersee, a bitch, and was promptly escorted out of her home by her father, the Mayor. Oops.

 

“I don’t think you should be with Madge,” I snap, pushing his arms off of me and moving to the other side of my bed. Space. We need lots of space right now.

 

Peeta’s eyes flash with something bright before the anger sets in and he groans loudly. “Why?”

 

“She’s not good for you,” I mumble, pulling on my braid and looking anywhere but at him.

 

He comes around the bed and grasps my arms lightly. “Why?” This time his voice is much softer. I try not to read into his tone too much.

 

I can’t handle the intensity of this moment or this conversation, so I spit out the first thing that pops into my head. “She’s…it’s…not a good match.”

 

“Why, Katniss?” He’s begging me to confess. I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m hiding something. But I can’t say it. I can’t lose him.

 

“I—never mind, Peeta.” I take a huge breath and try to compose myself. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight with you anymore, okay? I’ll apologize to Madge tomorrow.” He continues to stare at me. I can tell he’s not buying my apologies or excuses, so I pull out the only truth I can muster: “I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

 

“I am,” he grumbles. He doesn’t _look_ happy.

 

“Good,” I whisper. He stares at me for a long moment before nodding to himself and leaving without a word. He doesn’t answer my 6 texts or 3 phone calls. I send one last text before I finally fall into a fitful sleep: _I’m sorry I hurt you. I promised you I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you and then it was me. I’m so, so sorry._

 

I see his reply in the morning: _You didn’t hurt me, Katniss. I just want to know what’s going on with you._

I don’t respond.

 

They break up two days later. Peeta doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t really talk at all. He drives me to school, and sits next to me at lunch, and doesn’t say a word. I fear I may have broken the best thing I’ve ever had.

 

I slip a note in his locker before school starts the day after the breakup.

_I’m sorry if it’s my fault._

When I hit my locker to grab my lunch, there’s a note with a heart on the front shoved between the grates.

 

_Katniss,_

_It’s not your fault. You were right. It wasn’t a good match._

_Peeta_

I buy him coffee every day for the next month. Things almost go back to normal.

 

* * *

 

**One Month Later**

 

Peeta shows up unexpectedly on a Saturday while I’m alone in the house, doing chores. He barges in, a large blue shoebox tucked under his muscular arm. He’s in the jeans I love because they make his ass look perfect, and a plain white t-shirt.

 

“Well, just make yourself at home,” I deadpan, setting the broom I was holding aside and wiping my hands down my sides self-consciously. I hope he doesn’t pay too much attention to my dirty black t-shirt and sweatpants, or the fact that my hair looks like a rat’s nest.

 

“We need to talk,” he mumbles, heading up the stairs toward my bedroom. My stomach bottoms out—this can’t be good.

 

I follow him slowly, afraid of what’s about to happen. Things haven’t been great between us since the whole Madge ordeal, but it couldn’t be _that_ bad…could it?

 

He swings his free arm out in a _sit down_ motion, so I take a seat on my bed while he shuts the door. He paces in front of me, clutching the blue shoebox like a lifeline. He opens his mouth a few times, as if to speak, but shakes his head angrily and stops himself each time.

 

When I finally tire of this display, I ask, “What’s going on, Peeta? You know you can tell me.”

 

My words seem to snap him out of his trance. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what I want,” he begins quickly, “And what I deserve. And—do you remember Finnick saying that it’s dumb not to take chances because getting your heart broken is better than never knowing at all?”

 

I remember. Our good friend Finnick had just asked out a college girl—Annie—and amazingly, she said yes. He’s convinced he’s the expert on love these days, but his words have been bouncing around in my head since they were spoken. “Yes, I remember.”

 

“Well, that’s what I’ve been thinking about. And I’ve been talking to my dad a lot. And I can’t just—I need to—I need to take a chance,” he speaks quickly but firmly. The only indication that he’s nervous is the slight tremor in the hand that clutches the box. “Anyway, um, this is for you,” he mumbles, handing me the shoebox.

 

I give him a curious glance, but take the box. The lid reads **Everdeen** in large black letters. Curiously, I lift the top, setting it next to me on the bed. It’s full of papers.

 

“What is all of this?”

 

“Just…open one,” he replies shakily.

 

I grab the paper closest to the top and unfold it. It’s a sketch of…me. I’m in my seat in our math class with my head propped on my arm, my braid trailing down my back. “This is beautiful, Peeta. When did you do this?”

 

He glances over to see what I’m looking at. “Uhh, that one is from a couple weeks ago,” he says, a blush spreading across his perfect, pale cheeks. “Keep going,” he encourages. He takes a seat next to me on the bed, keeping a safe two or three feet between us.

 

I grab the next folded paper to find another sketch of myself. I’m younger, probably nine or ten, and I’m swinging on the tire swing in Peeta’s backyard. I can tell by the skill level and the age of the paper that this sketch is an old one. I open a few more pages—all sketches of me—before I reach something different. It’s a letter from Peeta, dated 2 months ago.

 

_Katniss,_

_You smelled like peppermint all day and it drove me fucking mad. I love it. I love you. I wish I had the balls to say something. I think I need to break up with Madge. She doesn’t even like me. She wants Hawthorne. I want you. I don’t even know why we’re together. I don’t want a relationship like my parents. I don’t want to settle. I don’t know why I’m writing this when I know you’ll never read it anyway._

_Peeta_

 

I gasp loudly and look over at Peeta, who has his eyes firmly trained on his shoes. The blush hasn’t left his face. I dig around the box, glancing at the beautiful sketches, until I find another letter. This one is dated 6 years ago.

 

_Katniss,_

_Do you want to be my girlfriend? I know we’re best friends, but I think that’s a good thing._

_Love,_

_Peeta_

 

I find another, from this past summer. Gabe sent Peeta to summer camp while he dealt with the fallout from the divorce. I stayed home to work.

 

_Katniss,_

_I miss you every single second of every single day. I miss the smell of your hair, and the way you feel when you hug me. I miss sitting in my car listening to music. I miss cooking you macaroni and watching MythBusters._

_I wish you felt the way I do. I wish I could just say something, but I don’t want to fuck up what we have. I can’t risk losing you completely. Because I know you, Katniss. You’d run for the hills. Me and my sentimental bullshit heart would be broken and you’d be gone because I’d scare the crap out of you. And the last thing I want is to lose you._

_I’ve been in love with you since the second grade. I wish you could just be mine so I don’t have to write these fucking letters anymore._

_Peeta_

One is dated 2 days after the Mellark men showed up on our doorstep.

_Katniss,_

_I promise, if we were together, I’d never be like my stepmom. I’d never hit you, or cheat on you, or hurt you. I would make you the happiest person in the universe. You called me your heart. What does that mean? I’ve been carrying that note around in my wallet. I don’t think you realize how much it helps._

_Peeta_

 

There are hundreds. Little notes, about my hair or a particular shirt I’m wearing. More and more sketches, going back to when we were kids. Long letters, detailing how much he loves me and how he doesn’t think it’ll ever happen because how could I possibly want him?

 

I take a deep, shaky breath. _Is this real? He wants me?_ I push up from where I’m sitting and stand directly in front of Peeta, who hasn’t gained the courage to look at me yet. I nudge his legs apart to stand between them and gently cradle his cheeks, pulling his head up to look at me. He looks terrified. I quickly wipe my eyes, where tears have gathered, and move my hands to his shoulders.

 

I stare at him for a long moment, taking it all in: his icy blue eyes, the stray blonde hairs that fall down his forehead, his strong jaw, clenched, like he does when he’s upset or uncertain. I can’t believe this man wants _me_. I hold my hand out to him. “Let me see your wallet.”

 

He gives me a confused glance, before recognition dawns, and he pulls his wallet from his back pocket and hands it to me. I open it slowly, finding the letter I left him. It’s almost two years old and showing signs of wear. There’s another piece of paper tucked behind it. It’s a handwriting I don’t recognize, and it looks very recent.

 

_Peeta,_

_Just tell her how you feel. I’ll be here for you at the end of the day either way._

_Love,_

_Dad_

 

I let out a huge breath, and reach up to wipe more tears from my eyes. I can’t lose it on him yet, not until—“Say it,” I demand, dropping the wallet on the bed and grabbing his cheeks again.

 

“Katniss—“ he pleads.

  
“No. If it’s true, I want you to say it. Tell me.”  
  


He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “I’m in love with you, Katniss,” he whispers. I can feel his legs trembling around me. He clenches my bedspread in his fists.

 

I let go of him and step back. He opens his eyes and stares, horrified, at my retreat. I turn toward my small desk and grab a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling my note quickly and walking back toward him. After stepping back between his legs, I reach for his wallet and open it, quickly slipping my note inside and tossing the wallet across the room. “Read it later,” I advise, before smiling brightly and leaning down, kissing him hard on the mouth.

 

He groans, and I take that as a good sign. I shift my hand into the hairs at the nape of his neck as we kiss, lips and tongues clashing and playing and fighting and just being together. When I pull away, I giggle softly and push my forehead against his. “Wow. So that’s what it’s like, huh? I could get used to that.”

 

Peeta’s eyes go wide as saucers. “You’ve never? With—not even Gale?”

 

I blush crimson and shake my head slowly. “I’ve only ever wanted to kiss you.”

 

Peeta’s smile could light the whole city block. “Well, I’m happy to oblige,” he beams. Leaning back, he scoots all the way onto the bed, crooking a finger toward me to join him. I crawl over to him, and then he’s smiling and pulling me to him and pushing his fingers through my hair and kissing me more, more, more while I try to catch up. He slows down after a moment, apologizing for forgetting that this is all new to me. I straddle his hips, pushing myself as close to him as possible and nuzzling against his neck. There’s so much to touch; my hands don’t stay still for longer than a second. And then there’s more kissing.

 

Eventually, we have to come up for air. Peeta breaks away with a loud pop, and stares up at me with awe and lust in his eyes. I kiss him quickly one more time before repeating my demand. “Say it again.”

 

He stares into my eyes for a moment, and once he finds what he’s looking for, his face softens and he whispers, “I love you so fucking much, Katniss.”

 

I grin so hard I swear I’m going to pull a muscle. Quickly, I wrap my arms around his torso and roll us so he’s lying on top of me. He smiles down at me. I pull his head down to whisper in his ear, “I’ve been in love with you for so long.” I hear his breath catch while I start trailing kisses from his ear, to his jaw, to his nose, stopping before I make contact with his lips again.

 

He kisses me hard once more and lets out a sigh as he pulls away, before his booming laughter fills my small bedroom. “I never, ever thought you’d say that to me,” he breathes, still chuckling. I love the way his chest quakes with the movement.

  
I smile broadly and nuzzle my head into his neck, breathing him in. “Ditto.” He giggles, but I can hear the relief in his voice. He peppers kisses on my neck and nose and cheeks. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of the smile on his face.

 

He drops down onto me with all of his weight, squishing me in the most delicious way. I feel his chest vibrating, and I fear he’s crying, but he lifts his head up and he’s laughing and smiling. I think he might be having a hallucination, and I worry slightly for his mental health.

 

He kisses me again, again, again, before rolling us over so I’m on top once more. I roll my eyes at him and he pulls me close and squeezes me hard. “I’m so happy, Katniss,” he whispers in my ear.

 

He never brings up the note I left in his wallet, but the following day he greets me by wrapping his arms around me, lifting me into the air and kissing the snot out of me, so I decide that’s a positive response.

 

_I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. I hope that’s okay._

 

* * *

 

**Two Weeks Later**

 

**Hot Buns:** _Do you still have me saved as Hot Buns in your phone?_

**Wifey:** _PEETA STOP TEXTING ME IN CLASS WE’RE GONNA GET IN TROUBLE._

**Wifey:** _Do you still have me saved as Wifey?_

**Hot Buns** _: That’s a yes. You love my buns._

**Wifey** _: Lame._

**Hot Buns:** _Oh god, I just realized I have to tell your dad we’re a couple._

**Wifey:** _You also probably should tell him we had sex._

**Hot Buns:** _FUCK THAT I DON’T HAVE A DEATH WISH._

**Wifey:** _He’s gonna find out someday_

**Hot Buns:** _NEVER._

**Wifey:** _What are you gonna do if we ever have kids?_

**Hot Buns:** _Immaculate Conception. And PS, our kids are going to be fucking gorgeous._

**Wifey:** _Cool it, loverboy. We’re only 17._

**Hot Buns:** _A guy can dream, right?_

**Wifey:** _You are going to be such a good wife._

**Hot Buns:** _DIVORCE!_

 

* * *

 

**Age 22**

 

Finnick barges into my hotel room, shouting, “Okay, just so we’re clear—I am not a damn carrier pigeon!” He pulls at the tie around his neck as he walks purposefully toward us.

 

“Explain yourself, Love,” Annie replies quietly without looking up. We sit cross-legged in front of each other on the cushy bed. She’s attacking my face more makeup than I’ve ever worn in my life.

 

“Here. He expects a reply,” Finnick explains, waving a piece of hotel stationery in the air. I can recognize Peeta’s messy scrawl from across the room.

  
“Hand it over, Odair!” I shout, jumping from my place on the bed to grab the paper from his grasp. My hands shake slightly as I read over the small note.

_Katniss,_

_I’m marrying the woman of my dreams today._

_I hope you’re not jealous._

_You’re still my best friend._

_All my love,_

_Peeta_

 

I grin widely, scrambling to the bedside table to write my response.

 

_Peeta,_

_You still chew really loud, but I think I’ll share my apples with you for the rest of our lives._

_Love,_

_The “Woman Of Your Dreams” (SO corny. You’ll be paying for that later…)_

 

Finnick huffily returns moments later with another note:

 

_Katniss,_

_Looking forward to it. On our honeymoon. In Paris. Naked._

_Love,_

_Your future husband_

 

I hand the note to Annie, the smile never leaving my face, as I wrap my arms around Finnick and kiss him loudly on the cheek.

 

“Do you want me to pass that on to Peeta?” Finnick asks, “Because I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

 

I kiss his cheek again, making a loud smacking noise. Annie rolls her eyes and beckons me back to the bed for more makeup torture.

 

“I have another letter for you, Katniss,” Finnick announces, producing a crisp white envelope. It’s a handwriting I’ve only ever seen once before.

 

_Katniss,_

_Thank you for this day, and for being the daughter I never had, and for loving my son so much. After all he’s been through, he deserves the kind of love that lasts a lifetime, and I know you will be the one to give that to him._

_Thank you for taking care of him when I couldn’t, and thank you for loving him even at the worst of times. We are so excited to have you as the newest Mellark._

_Please take good care of my son. I love you both so much._

_Gabe Mellark_

 

I’m sobbing by the time I finish the note, and Annie berates me for ten minutes for messing up my makeup. But it doesn’t matter. It’s still the perfect wedding day.

 

* * *

 

**Age 26**

 

I sneak down the stairs while Peeta’s in the bathroom. I set my note on the kitchen counter next to his coffee cup, grinning madly. It’ll be the first thing he sees in the morning.

_Peeta,_

_I’m thinking blue for the nursery._

_Have a great day at work._

_We love you,_

_Katniss & Baby Mellark_

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a huge thanks to BaronessKika for her feedback. 
> 
> I didn't have anyone beta this, so all mistakes are mine. I wanted to get this out there before it drove me crazy.


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